


Take Two (And Call Me in the Morning)

by RedTeamShark



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Author Chose Not To Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2019-09-12 03:42:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: Michael and Ray try again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proper warnings, tags, etc, may come in the future. For the time being I'm frantically transferring my content to a stable platform amidst growing concerns about tumblr's inevitable implosion.
> 
> Apologies for flooding the fandom page.

“Remember when we were better friends?”

To the rest of the world it’s an innocent question, but between the two of you it’s a signal. It’s hastily-canceled plans, locked doors, and a dark bedroom full of the sounds of heavy breathing. It’s slow kisses that quickly become rough, biting, leaving marks. It’s nails digging into skin and drawing thin lines of blood.

It’s pain and hollow love and oh so bittersweet to wake up to.

Mostly it’s waking up alone.

–

Shuffling through another week at work, making eye contact and looking away quickly. He’s better at acting like nothing happened, shrugging off the hickeys and bruises and changing the subject. He’s also better at making it happen again.

You try over and over to stop this, to escape the sinking ship that he is. Getting dragged down with someone, even one of your best friends, wasn’t in the cards. But then he looks at you with a smile, eyes knowing behind the lenses of his glasses, and asks the question.

“You wanna hang out tonight, like when we were better friends?”

So you try again.

And again.

And again.

–

Lying in bed with his head on your chest, both of you breathing heavily, legs tangled together and in your sheets. Your hand strokes through his hair, toying with the strands that are getting long enough to curl. His fingertips run up and down your side, with just a little too much pressure to tickle. You sigh together, shifting in bed to get comfortable again, your arms securing around him as you roll onto your sides and his back presses into your chest.

It’s a futile attempt to keep him there until the morning, you know it is, but your lips find the back of his neck, moving against his skin as you speak.

“Want me to make us breakfast?”

He shrugs, wiggling out of your embrace, pushing your hands away slightly. “Maybe. Call me in the morning.”

You wake up alone again.

–

It’s worse to see him make it work with someone else. To see him giving looks that you swore were reserved for you to a different person.

It’s so much worse to see him love someone that deserves it more than you do.

The part that’s like a punch in the stomach, however, is when he turns a bright smile on you, his hand still linked with hers, and winks.

“We should have another bro-date sometime, Ray. You know, like, be better friends.”

He laughs. She laughs. You make an empty noise that hopefully sounds like a laugh and not a scream.

You go to bed with him in your arms and wake up alone.

This is being ‘better friends’ with Michael Jones, and you hate how much you love it.


	2. Just Once (In a Lifetime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Ray are good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to the previous chapter.

The sad part is, you don’t have the excuse of being curious teenagers. You’re twenty-four and twenty-two, too old to just be curiously exploring sexuality with each other; by this stage in your life you’re supposed to  _know_.

What you know is that you’re in his room, lying down next to him against thin pillows on his narrow bed, watching a movie and you really want to put one of your arms around him. You know that he won’t mind if you do because, fuck it, you’re friends.

And you think that you want to be something more than friends with him, at least this once.

So you slip your arm around his waist, low, almost on his hips and when he turns and looks at you with a raised eyebrow you do what you’ve been thinking about since meeting up with him at the train station. You lean forward, closing that last little gap between your faces.

Your glasses bump together before your lips do.

Laughing, shaking your head, you start to pull back, already feeling yourself blush. His hand shoots up, however, tangling in your hair and keeping you still as he leans in this time and tilts his head. Your lips meet slowly but without hesitation and soon enough you’re lost in the feeling of his lips against yours.

When your phone alarm goes off in the morning he sleeps through it, so you dress quickly, press a kiss to his forehead, and see yourself back to the train station.

You’ll text him when you get home.

You won’t bring up what happened last night, because it was a one-off, a thing that only happens once. More than once and it becomes complicated.

–

He comes to see you next time and, alone in your room, he pauses the video game that you’re playing together to look at you seriously from behind his glasses. He sighs, shoulders slumping, and asks the question you don’t want to answer.

“What was that, between us… you know, at my place last time.”

You shrug and smile, mind racing, suddenly forced to face the problem before you. There has to be something you can say or do that will diffuse the situation, that will prevent you from having to deal with this like an adult.

An idea hits you and you lean forward, kissing him slowly, glasses not bumping together this time.

“It was whatever you want it to be.”

He kisses back and melts into you. The two of you wake up together the next morning, not making eye contact and only offering token efforts at conversation on the way to the train station.

That once, it was whatever he wanted it to be. This once, it’s what he needs.

–

This once, it’s what you need.

Stress sends you to him, the two of you walking around the city he lives in, laughing too loudly, being too obnoxious. You film everything, lingering shots on him and demands that he smile and wave for the camera. Demands that he tell the audience everything that you two are doing, because you don’t want to have to. He plays along, a running commentary of your “bro date” and frequent sideways glances to you, like he knows that you’re not filming this for the audience but for yourself.

When the camera shuts off and his hand slips into yours in the dark movie theater, you let your head rest on his shoulder. You watch the movie and flex your fingers against his, lips moving against his neck as you whisper your gratitude over the ending credits.

That night you watch the video twice, watch  _him_  captured almost completely on film, before falling asleep alone in your bed.

–

Just this once it doesn’t work. His touch feels wrong and your words don’t seem to mean anything to him. He’s lackluster, just going through the motions and you’re disinterested, looking out the window as he leans over you and places obligatory hickeys on your neck.

When you wake up and leave before he ever stirs, you don’t feel guilty. You don’t text him until days later, not mentioning your visit, just asking if he wants to join you for some co-op gameplay.

Maybe you were better friends when you were just friends.

Maybe neither of you want to let go of what you claim to have yet.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe nothing can ever happen just once. Maybe with Ray Narvaez Jr., it’s all or nothing. You can’t give him your all and he doesn’t deserve your nothing.

So you’re stuck.

Just once.


End file.
